Future Leaders
by nimmieamee
Summary: Minific. Purebloods all want the best for their children. Their children often choose something else entirely.


The future leaders of the world were examining their new toy broomsticks in the playroom. And though they had only the barest hint of adulthood about them — round cheeks instead of Papa's sharp angles, smudged fingernails instead of strong, long-fingered, wand-carrying hands — one could already see them in the halls of the Ministry, standing tall, handsome, and immovable: groomed for this position, these pups with their clear eyes and the barest hint of fangs.

A delight to behold this vision, here in the paneled playroom.

Yes, even Baby was a delight. Baby was a little slower than the rest, a bit less handsome than his brother. But what a sweet, steady Baby. Loyal, silly Baby, left mostly to the house elf's care as he could be bothersome in that way babies often are, so worrying to Mama, who believed him likely to toddle out of windows when one wasn't looking, or into London drains or holes or caves, or pits in the garden, or streets full of Muggles. But Baby was loving and good, adoring of his bright-eyed brother. Sure to fall in line and do what was expected of him, to never betray his betters for someone low. What a remarkable lieutenant he would make!

And the General! This was Papa's name for him, said in a vague way, as though he were not sure Mama approved (one had to run everything by Mama): the General. Generally cleverer than other boys his age, and generally handsomer. The General, developing harebrained schemes to make their pretty cousins eat terrible, tongue-melting toffees, and shouting rudely at the Minister when he came for tea, as though he had no fear for Mama's ensuing wrath. The General had no fear of anything. What a marvelous leader he would be; what a credit, once Slytherin tempered his rebelliousness a bit.

And there, swiping the broomsticks from them both as they protested in vain, stood a distant cousin, Commander of the lot. Already a dab hand, said his father in an undertone to Mama and Papa, at peculiar curses to rip the skin from lizards and make spiders explode. But he was not barbaric. He was a wise, far-seeing little fellow to people, to his own kind. So solicitous of Mama and Papa and other older wizards. So full of sunny smiles before the Minister and his Ministry men. Such a good example, so adept at making himself ringleader, at making the others fall in line. Surely the greatest child of his generation.

Why, even the General seemed subdued when he was about, if a bit surly, a bit distrustful of his Commander (as young, wild pups could be, before they were civilized a bit, tamed, reared up to suit their breeding). What a feat, to subdue the General!

Mama and Papa and Father were sure these were to be the future leaders of the world. Already, they were pouring galleons into many a Ministry coffer to make it so, posting amenable puppet persons to the Board of Governors, affixing hopes to Slytherin; so delightful, so wondrous was this vision of their three sons ruling the Ministry, heading the Army — what army? Who knew? Abraxas had some vague plans and a shadowy figure whose name he tossed about, and if this shadow-person should have goals that corresponded to theirs, goals that might be fitting for the future leaders of the world — then perhaps. Perhaps that army.

They would naturally lead it, for a child like the Commander could not be expected to bend at the knee to some half-blood Abraxas kept in the shadows.

"How silly we are, worrying over them like this, when anyone can see they are perfectly fine," said Walburga, turning away, oblivious, as the Commander began poking Baby with a broomstick. "Kreacher ought to have brought out the tea by now. Come."

"Leave him alone!" shouted the General as they departed. This did not alarm them. The General was always shouting things.

"Or what?" said Mulciber the Commander. "Or what?"

Oh, how easy it is to see, in formless Baby cheeks and small, nudging hands; in cowlicks and uneven children's teeth; and in those small, unsure steps they take, haltingly, on their paths to the future; precisely what lies in wait for our next, most beloved generation. As we place Professors here and Governors there, shower them with toys and lessons and civilization, they are moving forward, on their own, into places we never quite expected, as if to spite us.

* * *

originally posted on my tumblr, livesandliesofwizards.


End file.
